


The Cost of Mithril

by BoldlyGoingNowhereFast



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Battle of Five Armies, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast/pseuds/BoldlyGoingNowhereFast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo jumps in and saves Thorin during the Battle of the Five Armies, but is gravely injured in the process. Thorin discovers there are more important things than wealth, but this lesson may have come too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cost of Mithril

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for the Battle of the Five Armies (sort of?).

Thorin didn’t see the Hobbit coming, so caught up he was in the battle for his life against the terrible Pale Orc, and it was for that reason he was unable to stop what would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

Thorin was so exhausted his arm was barely able to bring the sword up to block the vicious onslaught of a rusty blade. His breath was coming in hard pants and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. Thorin was wise enough to know he wasn’t going to survive this fight.

A particularly hard slash from Azog caught against Thorin’s blade and sent the Dwarf crumbling to the ice, prone and vulnerable. Azog, about to bring down his weapon on Thorin, was not prepared for the small blade that was thrust into his side by the Hobbit who had snuck up on him.

Thorin gaped at the round face that was twisted in fury and caked with blood, so much different than the indignant creature bobbing on the mat all those months ago.

“Bilbo!” Thorin rasped as the Hobbit yanked his sword out of Azog’s stomach and recoiled from the furious Orc that towered over him.

Thorin could see the scene play out in his mind’s eye, and he tried to get up in time, but his limbs were leaden despite the terror pulsing through his veins. “Bilbo, run!” he shouted, only to choke out a shout of horror as Azog lunged towards the little Hobbit and slid his blade into Bilbo’s stomach. The dark laugh that sounded as the Hobbit’s eyes widened and he yelped in pain curdled Thorin’s blood.

Bilbo’s sword, blackened with dark blood, clattered to the ice.

Thorin’s felt his mind cloud over with fury at the whimper that Bilbo released as he fell to his knees, clutching at his wound. Before Azog looked back at Thorin, the Dwarf had his blade buried in the Orc’s chest with a furious snarl. Time seemed to move in slow motion as the Orc fell backwards, siding off of Thorin’s sword and hitting the ice with a great and final thud.

Thorin spared not a second thought for the fallen Orc, rushing instead to the little Hobbit who had saved his life, hoping with all his heart that what he had seen had been a trick of the light or maybe even a terrible hallucination brought on by exhaustion from the battle.

Falling to his knees and cradling Bilbo gently in his arms, his throat constricted at the blood spreading across the blue coat of fine silk.

“Bilbo,” Thorin breathed, his voice but a rasp in his throat. “Dear Bilbo, you saved my life.”

Bilbo stared up at him with misty eyes, his golden curls stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood.

“You sound surprised,” he responded breathily, and the smile on his face made Thorin clutch him tighter against his body. He pressed a firm hand against he wound in Bilbo’s stomach, feeling the sickening warmth of fresh blood under his palm, blood that had no place being spilled.

“You were supposed to stay out of trouble, with the wizard,” Thorin growled. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt.” His voice caught, and he closed his eyes against the burn of tears.

“But you’re unharmed, Thorin,” Bilbo said reaching a weak hand up to clutch at Thorin’s collar. “You and the rest of the Company are all alive, and that’s what matters. You’ve won back the mountain.”

Bilbo’s lip was split and his chin was smeared with blood. Thorin ran a thumb along the Hobbit’s chin, wiping up as much of it as he could through the blur of his vision. “None of it would have been possible without you, my dear burglar.” Bilbo felt so small in his grasp, something fragile that had been broken.

“Thank you for everything you have done for me, Thorin; for enchanting me into coming on your adventure, for trusting me, for sharing your perils. It is more than any Baggins deserves.”

He was blinking slowly now, and his breath was coming in hitching pants as the hand he had on Thorin’s coat loosened and fell away; he was not much longer for this world. Thorin felt as though it was him who had been stabbed, only through the heart instead. Oh, how he wished he had given Bilbo the Mithril shirt like he had planned. Bilbo would not be here dying in his arms if he had gifted that chainmail to his dear, breakable Hobbit.

It was as the first tears spilled down Thorin’s cheeks that he realized there was one last sliver of hope.

Scooping Bilbo up in gentle arms, Thorin clutched Bilbo to his chest and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Bilbo, you must try to stay awake. I’m going to bring you to someone who may be able to help you.”

Bilbo didn’t respond, far enough gone that Thorin wasn’t sure if the Hobbit had understood him. Holding him as firmly as he could, Thorin took off across the ice and made his way as swiftly as he could down Ravenhill and to where he knew the Elvenking’s tent to be set up, hoping with all his heart that he would be on time to save the precious creature in his arms.

With the large, white tent in sight, Thorin picked up his pace, ignoring the burning pain in his lungs and the swimming of his vision.

He skidded to a halt in front of the Elven guards that blocked the entrance to the tent. “I bid you let me pass. My companion is dying and I must have audience with King Thranduil.”

“There are hundreds of others injured. Why is your companion any more important than them?”

Thorin could see the Thranduil standing across a low table from Bard of Laketown, and it didn’t seem as though he was helping to heal anyone.

“Your king does not appear to be too busy to at least _hear_ my plea,” Thorin said urgently. “I beg you let me pass.”

The two guards stared, sizing Thorin up, and Thorin didn’t have time for this. With a snarl he attempted to push past the Elves, only to have them cross their swords over the entrance.

The commotion drew the attention of the occupants of the tent, and at a command in Elvish from Thranduil, the guards drew back.

“Do come in,” Thranduil said in Westron, and as Thorin stepped through the opening in the tent, he saw Thranduil and Bard share an indecipherable look. He nearly snarled at the both of them before stopping himself _._ There were more important things at stake.

Thranduil’s eyes alighted on the Hobbit clutched to Thorin’s chest, and Thorin caught the slight widening of the Elf’s eyes before his face was again impassive.

“I know what you will ask of me, Dwarf, but I am afraid you ask too much,” Thranduil said. “For, I sense that the Halfling is already too close to death to save without using more power than should be given to one his size.”

Thorin unconsciously tightened his grip on Bilbo. “This _Halfling_ risked his life to stop the battle, to keep blood from being spilled. He is dying because he placed himself in the way of an Orc’s blade that was meant for me. I cannot allow him to die without trying all I can to save him.”

“I owe you nothing,” Thranduil said coldly, turning his gaze back to the documents they had been going over on the table, a sign of dismissal if Thorin ever saw one. Bard stood awkwardly on the other side of the table, glancing between the two of them as if he didn’t know whose side he was on.

His breath catching in a way that he knew the other two occupants in the room could hear, Thorin made up his mind.

“I will let you keep the Arkenstone, as well as the gems you so desire, if you save him. You are the greatest healer on this side of the Misty Mountains, and I beg you to do what you can.”

Thranduil looked up sharply. “You would part with the heart of the mountain?”

Thorin closed his eyes. “Yes. Anything, for Bilbo’s survival.” Thorin swallowed heavily and looked down at the deathly pale Hobbit in his arms, so close to death. “No amount of wealth can compare to the bearer of my heart.”

The silence in the tent was sharp, and Thorin could feel the knife in his heart twist as it carried on and with each second took the remaining chance that Bilbo had for life.

A sharp order in Sindarin had Thorin looking back up at the Elvenking to see that he was moving, ordering his guards and approaching Thorin. The Dwarf stared up at him in surprise.

“I will do what I can to save him, but I make no promises,” Thranduil said, leaning down to take the Hobbit from Thorin’s grasp. It was only thoughts of saving Bilbo’s life that allowed Thorin to let the Elf take him. Bilbo looked tiny and fragile in Thranduil’s grasp.

A cot was wheeled in and the Elf lay Bilbo down gently before taking the proffered box from another Elf.

“I am sorry, Bard, but it seems our meeting will have to be postponed.” Thranduil said as he began sorting through the contents of the box, setting out what he needed for the healing on a small table that had been set up next to the cot.

Bard shook his head gravely. “It is of no matter. The Halfling’s life is more important.”

Thorin tuned out the rest of their speech, intent on the Elvenking’s hands on Bilbo as they removed layers of clothing and started cleaning the terrible wound in the Hobbit’s stomach. Just seeing it had Thorin’s stomach turning over in horror. Such a wound did not belong on so peaceful and happy a creature. His eyes wandered to the pale face with both dirt and blood standing out sharply from the skin underneath. The Hobbit looked to be dead already.

He should never have allowed Gandalf to drag Bilbo Baggins into this adventure.

“You may as well sit, Oakenshield. This could take a long time, even if it goes well. Perhaps even find the other Dwarves. Your presence doesn’t make me any likelier to succeed.”

“I will not leave,” Thorin snapped back. Thranduil arched an eyebrow but did not respond, intent on his work.

The next few hours were a haze of heartache and desperate hope. At some point, Balin had entered the tent bringing a chair and a warm clasp of Thorin’s shoulder. After that, at different points, other members of the Company visited, but none of them stayed longer than to spend a moment watching the proceedings and to give Thorin silent companionship. They seemed to know better than to bother him, and he was thankful for that. He wasn’t sure what his voice would sound like if he was forced to speak with his friends and family.

Fili and Kili stayed the longest, standing silently beside their uncle, and the sober expressions on their youthful faces looked out of place.

At some point Thranduil had removed his outer robes so that he was only in a simple tunic with the sleeves rolled up, and he had pulled back his hair so that it wasn’t in the way as he worked. Elves were running in and out of the tent bringing what Thranduil requested of them and being sent away just as quickly.

Thorin wished there was something he could do, but he feared getting in the way and causing more harm than good.

After what seemed like an eternity, Thranduil backed away from the cot and wiped a sleeve across his face. “That is all I can do for now. He is stable and sleeping, but there is still a chance he will not awaken.”

The room around him narrowed down, leaving only the slumbering Hobbit on the cot. Thorin rose on shaky legs and moved as if pulled by an invisible rope around his heart toward the other end of the tent. The cot was tall enough that the edge met the bottom of his ribcage, and as he looked at his dear Hobbit, Thorin could feel the vice around his heart loosen at the sight of the even breaths Bilbo was taking.

Bilbo was still in his breeches, but his shirts had been removed, leaving his chest bare but for the bandages wrapped around his middle. His curls were limp against his forehead, like a plant that once had been bright and lively, whose leaves were now wilting at its poor treatment. The once rosy tint to his cheeks was gone and underneath the blood and grit on his face was a ghostly pallor.

Thorin scooped a pale hand into his own bloodstained ones and watched Bilbo’s face intently, looking for any sign that his Hobbit was still there. The limp hand in his was cold and clammy and the face was smooth in sleep, more at ease than Thorin had seen it since their time spent with the Elves in Rivendell. Thorin wished more than anything that he hadn’t been the one to put the frown lines on Bilbo’s face, or the one who had lost the Hobbit his soft hands and his soft belly. An adventure was not good for those things, and who was it that had allowed the burglar to come along?

Thorin wished that it wasn’t his fault Bilbo was lying there so close to death. He would have given anything that it was him on that pallet, instead of his dear burglar. He would deserve it for all the pain he had caused, for the look of hurt that had flashed across that dear face when Thorin had nearly thrown him from the ramparts.

“Dear Bilbo, what I would do to take back every foul word or action towards you. It is a sin to act towards your heart with anything but love, and that is what I have done.” Thorin’s voice was shattered and there were tears tracking down his cheeks yet again.

“If you die on me, Bilbo…” His voice caught and he bowed his head.

He did not know for how long he stood like that, speaking softly to his Hobbit, willing him to come back, but when a hand settled on his shoulder he nearly jumped in fright.

“Thorin, you must eat something,” Balin told him, eyes warm and concerned. “It will do Bilbo no good if you faint where you stand.”

Thorin glared at the Dwarf, but when the bowl of stew was thrust into his hands, he did not protest. Allowing himself to be pushed into a chair by surprisingly gentle hands, Thorin mechanically ate the meal without really tasting it. Balin stood by, using the ruse of giving Thorin updates on the end of the battle to watch and make sure Thorin finished the stew and to check on him besides.

Thorin found himself grateful of all that Balin did for him, and once he was finished eating, he clasped Balin on the shoulder and gave him a look that he hoped conveyed what he was feeling.

Judging by the small smile Balin gave him, the older Dwarf understood.

 

It was dawn before Bilbo stirred at all, a whole night in which Thorin switched between pacing in agitation and holding Bilbo’s hand and murmuring softly to him. The Elvenking had assured him that Bilbo would be fine for the night, but there was no way Thorin was leaving Bilbo’s side while the Hobbit had yet to show improvement.

He was standing beside the cot when Bilbo’s eyelids fluttered and his breath caught on a groan.

“Bilbo?” Thorin caught the Hobbit’s hand, which was markedly warmer than it had been hours before.

Bilbo’s brows furrowed and hazel eyes blinked open to stare in confusion up at the Dwarf. 

“Thorin?” His voice rasped and he gave a weak cough which had Thorin moving quickly to find the glass of water Thranduil had left on the side table.

He supported Bilbo’s head as the Hobbit took a grateful drink of cool water.

“I thought I was done for,” Bilbo said after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced around the tent. “King Thranduil?”

Thorin nodded. “At the last moment, I realized that the Elf was the only one who could save you.”

Bilbo smiled weakly. “You carried me all the way here?”

Thorin nodded and was surprised when Bilbo frowned.

“He agreed that easily to heal me when there are so many others that also need help?”

Thorin broke their eye contact and glared at the fine weave of the tent wall. “He took some convincing, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure you survived.” Thorin was amazed his voice was even, considering the wild thumping of his heart.

“Thorin, what did you do?”

Thorin shifted on his feet and looked down at where their hands were still clasped and willed himself onward. Bilbo must know how he meant to Thorin. “I allowed him to keep the Arkenstone.”

The Hobbit gasped in the peaceful quiet of the tent. “Thorin! Why would you do that? After all we did to get ahold of that gem, after all the strife! I thought it was worth more than anything!”

Bilbo would have kept up his somewhat hysterical rant had Thorin not placed a finger over the Hobbit’s mouth to silence him. Wide hazel eyes stared up at him in question.

“Bilbo, I realized perhaps too late that there are things much more important than a stone.”

He moved his hand from Bilbo’s mouth and cupped the Hobbit’s jaw, watching Bilbo’s expression carefully. It was cautious, but Thorin could see the hope in his eyes.

“When I was under the horrible spell of the dragon sickness, I was blind to what mattered most, and I regret everything I said and did to you during that time. If you do not wish to forgive me, I understand.”

“Thorin, you were sick. Of course I forgive you,” Bilbo responded softly.

Thorin took a deep breath. “Bilbo, I never told you this because I feared the perils we would face as we neared the mountain and fought the dragon, and a quest to reclaim a homeland is no time for such things. But I see now that I was almost too late.” He was sure the Hobbit could see the tears he had shed by the tracks they had left through the grime on his face, but somehow he thought if Bilbo saw how he cared, the Hobbit would understand.

“Bilbo, you are my heart, my One, and I cannot explain the depth of love of feel for you.”

Thorin heard Bilbo’s breath catch and saw his eyes widen in surprise, but before he could continue, there was a hand fisting in the fabric of his coat and yanking him downward.

His lips met Bilbo’s, and there was a moment of surprise at being kissed by the fierce burglar, but then he was moving his hand to thread fingers through Bilbo’s hair and kissing him back.

The kiss tasted of blood and sweat, but to Thorin it was everything he could have asked for and more, for he had almost lost his Hobbit and didn’t deserve forgiveness. Bilbo’s mouth was soft and hot against his and the hint of teeth proved that the kiss was tinged with desperation on both their parts. How wonderful it felt to be kissing Bilbo at last, to finally be able to act on everything he had felt for the Bilbo since the green door had opened and the Hobbit had glared at him indignantly.

When they finally pulled back, Thorin saw that Bilbo’s lips were red and his cheeks tinged pink, and he rejoiced at the liveliness it gave the Hobbit.

“I love you too, you stubborn old Dwarf,” Bilbo said warmly, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I think I’ve loved you since I heard you singing that night in my home. I had no idea it went both ways.”

Thorin leaned in and kissed him again.


End file.
